How Do YOU FEEL?
This is not about what you think it is.
Imagine you’re walking down a street and suddenly you see a strong, big man stepping on the neck of a small, weak person. The little one is crushed under his boots, beaten mercilessly.
But first, let me give you some context.
You live in a place—an entire world, really—where people fight a lot. And these fights are rarely between equals. There are always winners and losers, the rich and the poor.
Now, picture this place as a small city with winding streets. At any given moment, you can’t see everything happening in every corner, but you hear about it. People talk. The news reports on it. You know what’s going on, even if it’s just bits and pieces.
Recently, you heard about a fight breaking out not far from where you live. It’s a fight between people who’ve been clashing on and off for some time. One evening, you decide to walk in that direction, and as you turn the corner, you hear shouting. One voice is yelling, “You think you can attack me with a knife? You dared cutting my precious face? Give me that stupid knife right now!” Then, you hear someone screaming for help.
You brace yourself, expecting to see a fistfight. But what you witness is far worse.
A huge, scar-faced man is savagely beating a small, fragile person, who lies crushed under his boots. The weak person, barely holding on to life, clutches a primitive knife, refusing to let go, even as blood pours out of him. The big man isn’t just beating him—he’s armed to the teeth, loaded with guns, armor, and rage.
But his power doesn’t end there.
This big man is rich—rich not just in weapons, but in influence. He has secured the support of every other powerful person in town. He’s got friends in all the right places, people who owe him favors, and those who are afraid of him. Some of them are relatives of the weak person, but they dare not intervene; the big man holds their darkest secrets, skeletons hidden away in closets, or simply keeps them in power. They are silent too.
As the weak one lies there, you realize that the big man controls everything. The news reports, the stories people hear, even the conversations on the streets—all are in his hands. Anyone who dares to expose his brutality, who even thinks of challenging his narrative, is swiftly punished. Careers destroyed, lives ruined, or worse—disappeared without a trace.
The small, weak person, still holding onto that primitive knife, looks up at you, and cries, “HELP! PLEASE HELP ME!” But what can you do? This isn’t just a fight—it’s an orchestrated assault, backed by power, money, and fear. The big man insists he must continue, claiming the weak one is a threat to everyone, a danger that must be eliminated.
The weak one, with barely any strength left, looks at you, eyes pleading, crying out for help.
Do you walk away?
You feel helpless, so you scream for help. But no one comes.
You try to pull them apart, but the strong man is far too powerful. Desperate, you run to get help.
You feel helpless, so you scream for help. But no one comes.
You run to get help.
The first person you meet brushes you off, saying they’re too busy with work. Others prefer not to interfere. You try to explain that this isn’t just a normal fight; it’s a massacre. You plead for people to come together because only in numbers can you overpower the brute. Some dismiss you, saying the weak guy had it coming—what did he expect, challenging someone so much stronger? Others are more sympathetic but fear losing their jobs or getting hurt themselves if they intervene. They remind you that this strong man controls everything; crossing him is futile.
You’re losing your mind. You can’t just walk away, pretend you didn’t see it.
But people tell you, “Why are you so obsessed with this one fight, this one person? There must be a million others like it.”
You say, “But we can see this one! And everyone is helping the big guy! Can we at least stop that? How can we just look the other way?”
They reply, “Try.”
You search for ways to broadcast what you’ve seen, hoping that if enough people know, maybe you can stop the assault. But when you try to speak, your voice is muted, your mic is cut off. Only a few can hear you. Meanwhile, the loudest voices, the ones that can be heard, are telling a completely different story.
And most people are crying—not for the small, bleeding person—but for the big, powerful man, because he got a scratch on his face.
What would you do?
How would you feel?
Now, pause for a moment. Think about what it means to be surrounded by people who would look away when a defenseless person is being brutalized by someone so powerful. What does it say about them? And more importantly, how does it make you feel to know that, in this moment, they choose not to see, not to act?
Now, imagine a different layer to this situation. Imagine that the poor guy looks like you, and the big guy doesn’t…
Now imagine that when you go to work or meet with friends and try to tell them about the horror you’ve witnessed, they tell you they can’t hear it anymore.
And imagine that most people around you look like the powerful man. Every day, they ask why you aren’t crying for the scar on the big man’s face.
And think about this: just last year, these same people stopped everything because in their own street, a strong guy attacked a weaker one out of nowhere. They all cut off ties with the bad guy, even refused to sell him food.
As for today, you know there’s a big party happening, and the powerful man and his gang are all invited. But you—you’ve been disinvited. Why? Because you refuse to express remorse over the scar caused by the poor guy who looks like you. Because you’re asking the big guy to stop the beating. And every day, there is an event where – just like this party – you are not invited, in fact you are prevented from participating.
Now, tell me—what would you do?
How do you feel?
